Mind of the Virtuoso: A Tragic Collection of Short Tales
by TheatricalMinds
Summary: This series will consist of multiple short stories, each depicting the mental instability of Khada Jhin. It is in my best interest to convey just how a psychopath like him would think, act, and feel according to the situation they're placed in. [This material is rated MA due to instances of gore, torture, sex, cannibalism, and more mature themes. Reader's discretion is advised]
1. Mind of the Virtuoso: Insomnia

**_Author's Notes_**

Before you begin this adventure, I'd like to inform you that this is a collection of short stories pertaining to League of Legends one and only Khada Jhin. **As a disclaimer, Khada Jhin belongs to Riot Games and in no way do I take credit for the creation of their character. My stories are entirely fanmade and have no connection to the canon content Riot Games has already designed for Jhin. I do not intend to make any money from writing these stories. All properties belong to Riot Games.**

This series will consist of multiple short stories, each depicting the mental instability of a psychopath. My purpose is to convey to the reader how someone with a personality disorder, such as psychopathy, would process information, act, and feel according to their current situation. **In no way is this meant to mock, offend, or belittle people with personality disorders. If you have a problem with one of my pieces, please let me know.** Constructive criticism is welcome and necessary.

I should also note that I am a passionate writer of mature themes, so this means my works aren't intended for a younger audience. These themes include but are not limited to violence, gore, torture, nudity, depression, drug and alcohol abuse, and cannibalism. If you are uncomfortable with any of the above, I would highly advise avoiding my works. That being said, I will always leave chapter warnings before each piece so if you are uncomfortable with a certain chapter's contents, you may skip it.

If you're still with me, I hope you enjoy my portrayal of Khada Jhin. I thank each and every one of you for your full support!

* * *

 **Insomnia**

 **WARNING:** Mentions of 18+ Material and Torture (NSFW)

With a final groan, I anxiously popped another day's worth of sleeping pills. I swallowed them down harshly with a plain glass of water. Notice the water wasn't cold; nor would it ever be. I had recently overheard a conversation between two ladies at the local market discussing healthy eating habits.. er.. drinking habits, I suppose. The way those ladies stared at me, they were probably in love with me. Anyways, cold water is bad for you. Something to do with digestion and fat. I'm not looking to gain weight anytime soon. Now, the water couldn't be too warm either. I figure that if a man like me was ever at the point of drinking a glass of warm water for enjoyment, he should just be making himself a cup of tea. That, or perhaps he has truly lost his marbles.

 _Gulp._

Minutes pass before I start feeling an almost disturbing amount of exhaustion. Sluggishly, I walk to my large and luscious bedroom; which is, might I add, very expensive and well furnished. Let's just say, the carpet does match the drapes. On the way to my bed, I passed my wooden nightstand which, on top, rested my favourite novel of the night: "Ionian Psycho". Climbing up the mountainous bed and sinking right into it, I get comfortable and open my novel to where I had left off; page 144.

After I had finished masturbating to an overly explicit chapter of a woman being dismembered by a hacksaw, my body became very limp. She was here. Slumber was ready to take me. I figure she signaled my consciousness to turn off as I don't really remember what happened next.

The morning after I awoke with my book on my lap; page 144. I suppose this is where I had left off from the previous night. Needless to say, I'm thrilled to find out what will happen to that innocent woman and that hacksaw. Placing the novel back down on my wooden nightstand, I itch my dry, scratchy throat. I am thirsty. Time for a glass of water. Oh, that reminds me!

Did I ever mention how bad cold water is for you?


	2. Mind of the Virtuoso: Morningwood

**Morningwood**  
 **WARNING:** Mentions of Graphic Torture, Gore, Nudity (NSFW)

* * *

Sunday.

I returned home late and alone, but no later than 12 AM, after a dinner date with one of the prostitutes I had met about a week ago down at Sub Rosa; a very cheap nightclub that I usually only visit when my cravings need to be satisfied. These cravings include but are not limited to: having sex, getting high and/or drunk, teasing and flirting with whores, and torturing/murdering innocent civilians who just wanted to have a nice night out with their friends. I set my expensive eelskin wallet down on the coffee table with my set of keys tumbling after it. Clink.

Strolling my slight tipsy way to the kitchen I begin to brew myself a cup of warm tea to start my nightly ritual. Four Halcion pills, sleepy-time tea, watering the lotus plants while my sleepy-time tea boiled, taking out the garbage bag full of dismembered limbs I had been collecting, washing my hands before it finally hit me. I didn't have to unlock my door on the way in. I had company.

* * *

Evelynn was sitting in my bathtub, humming a tune of misfortune. I must have forgotten I had told Evelynn she could use my home as a resting point while she was in town. She had mentioned something about her hotel being too noisy or having a wicked smell. I can't remember. In all honesty, I believe she is just trying to seduce me and have sex with me. Lustful demon. I sit down on the closed toilet lid and cross my legs, left over the right, with my cup of sleepy-time tea in hand. Evelynn lifts herself up resting her arms on the side of the tub. As usual, her pleasing voice calls to me.

"How was your date, love?"

I rudely find myself staring at her now exposed breasts before quickly, I shake my head to snap out of the taunting charm.

"It went well," I say, keeping it short.

Being a stickler for detail, Evelynn pushes on with her date night interrogation. Eventually, I give her a look, one that says: "Knock it off or I will skin those breasts right off of your chest and shove them down your tight, warm throat." She takes the hint and goes back to bathing herself.

"Hey, Jhin. Did you hear about the new limited fashion line coming out? Apparently, it's going to be super expensi.." Evelynn rambles on and so does my mind. My gaze wanders around the bathroom only stopping when it notices the amount of female hair and makeup products littering my counter. A hair dryer, a hair curler, blush, foundation, moisturizers, fake eyelashes, lipstick, chunks of bone I had washed off in the sink from last week's victim, the list goes on and on. I grab the already plugged in hair curler. It's already hot but not to my liking. I turn the dial up to the max heat setting; from three to nine. I set the curler back down and pick up the hairdryer. I turn it on and off a few times before it catches Evelynn's attention.

"Jhin?" She coos. "What are you doing with my hair dr-"

I find myself tossing the already plugged in hair dryer into the tub. A loud bang, smoke, and a woman screaming bloody murder, exactly in that order I think. It all happened so fast. Making sure I unplugged the hair dryer before pulling Evelynn's wet convulsing body out of the tub, I let her hit the cold tile floor with a thump. Evelynn is still alive laying on her back and unable to move as she is trying to stutter incoherent words to me.

"W-W-Why, J-Jhin? Is that what you're trying to say? Stupid bitch." I tease with a wide smirk plastered on my face. My looming hand hovered over the now boiling hair curler. I grab it tightly and bring it down to Evelynn's vagina, opening her up with my left hand. I insert the rod, cauterizing her insides. A satisfying sizzle elicits from her pussy; almost like the sound of bacon frying on an oiled pan. I am hungry. I can't help but giggle as she tries to scream.

"Oh, Evelynn .." I moan, placing my lips on hers. She's now screaming in my mouth as I try to choke her with my tongue. I'm practically eating her face. My hand goes to grasp the handle of the hair curler, thrusting it in and out of her blistering vagina. Guttural sounds are the only noise Evelynn is making now. I try shoving it up as far as her opening would let me. Her body jerks uncontrollably. Luckily, I was heavy enough to hold her down. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm fat. I work out almost every day. In fact, my gym pass probably costs me around $2000 a month; which reminds me, I need to renew it soon. My stiff erection throbs against Evelynn's warm belly occasionally dripping precum on it. I suppose sometime during the face eating, I had pulled down my pants.

I wanted more. I wanted to feel her. All of her. I removed the scalding sex toy from her blossom to only replace it with my engorged penis. Gods did it ever feel good. A tight, swollen, blistering euphoria. I'm thrusting wildly like a deprived animal in heat. Gripping the curling rod, I instinctively gouge it into her open right eye. Within minutes the rod has melted her eye into a soupy consistency which jiggled in its socket from each one of my powerful thrusts. The smell coming from the corpse in front of me could only be pleasantly described as sweltering, metallic flesh. I could feel my climax approaching, my breath becoming labored, and my muscles tightening. I'm stirring the soupy concoction of what used to be Evelynn's eye. Harder and faster the closer I get until: "Yes, yes. E-Evelynn! I'm gonna-"

Coming back to reality steadily, my hips are still slightly bucking and I'm seeing double. Time passes and I soon realize that I am still in the bathroom sitting up on the cold tile floor. My tea mug rests in my right hand empty. Evelynn is gone. Upon moving, I feel my briefs are sticky and wet. Great.

"Jhin? How do you like your bacon?"

My house reeks of the smell of burnt toast and greasy bacon. Though the sudden unexpected question startles me, I reply:

"Well done."


	3. Mind of the Virtuoso: Expensive Tastes

**Expensive Tastes**  
 **WARNING:** Very Minimal Mentions of Violence

* * *

After a warm cup of bergamot tea and a session of intense stretches, I am ready to thrust myself back into the toxic cesspool that I like to call "society".

Today I ended up visiting "Honeysuckle", a small café downtown for lunch. Their menu wasn't very large and it hardly consisted of any delicacies that would satisfy not only my stomach but my ego. I decided to stick with an all-bran muffin and a bottle of water to drink. I made sure to specify Voss water but to no avail, the lady behind the counter looked at me as if I was utterly insane. Her petty, hideous face stared with utmost confusion. Gods, what I would do to skin her face right off and feed it to her co-worker who happened to be ten times more attractive than 'Lola'; if that even was her real name.

"Well, Lola." I would say. "Give me your most expensive bottle." By now this seemed foolish and I could tell her co-worker was becoming oddly uncomfortable. I can't seem to understand why. She wasn't the one with the gun pointed at her throat. As Lola handed me a cheap bottle of water, you know, the ones that taste like tap water, I had grabbed her wrist firmly, pulling her into me. My gun had met her throat, almost choking her from how hard I had been pushing Whisper's barrel into her trachea.

"I would advise selling higher quality water." I quickly grabbed my disappointing lunch and left the café.

"Ridiculous."

* * *

Days later I find myself skimming through the daily newspaper. Murder, car accident, drug bust, dog learns how to speak, community deaths, prostitution charges, murder, bomb threats. Seems like a good day. I look up to the woman standing next to me.

"Can you believe that, Lola? A dog learning to speak!" I scoff, pointing at the article.

She hands me an all-bran muffin and a bottle of chilled water. Voss.


	4. Mind of the Virtuoso: Starvation

**_Author's Notes_**

Has anyone ever experienced a "fullness" of the brain before? Is it just exhaustion? Either way, it's very unpleasant.

* * *

 **Starvation**  
 **WARNING:** Gore, Self-Cannibalism and Brief Mentions of Sexual Content

* * *

My medications are heavy. To name a few: Halcion, Remeron, Zoloft, and Percocet; not to mention the occasional Advil. And who could forget alcohol? (Preferably a hard whiskey or a greatly-aged tall glass of red wine). Though it may not be classified as society's "drug," I treat it all the same.

Lately, I've been waking up every few hours during the night and no, not due to anything external. No sounds, no lights, and definitely not because my bed is giving me grave discomfort. I paid a wealthy amount of money for this mattress and was promised that I would be "sleeping in the heavens." That never fails to crack me up. No, this restlessness was internal. Booming headaches, pained muscles, and oddly something I can only describe as a "full mind." A sensation that breeds the strangest confusion. It feels as if my mind is constantly busy and yet the irony is that it's completely empty. I know I sound like I'm a madman, but I can assure you I'm not. I happen to enjoy art and lead a healthy lifestyle. I work in a traveling theatre and I am paid quite handsomely.

The next thing I know, I am grabbing my head with both hands and I am putting immense pressure on my temples. You see, like the smart man I am, I try condensing all this information, pressing it together in hopes to make room for some clear thinking. But alas, much to my avail, it wouldn't stop. My mind was continuing to run a mile a minute. At this point, I find myself aggressively hitting my head against the wall. The pain did not measure to the erratic buzzing of my brain. I wanted more than anything for it to stop. Perhaps If I let some of this information leak out, only then would I be free from this torment. Harder and harder my skull hits the already denting wall until it opens with a satisfying crack much like an egg. My soupy mind starts to drain from my head, spilling out on my floor. Hardwood. Very expensive. I pick the brain matter up in my hands and squish it between my fingers. My memories, dreams, intelligence, passion, all bleeding out from within my intense grasp. A clear mind is all I want. Let it drain. I am playing with who I am; who I once was. My carcass of bones, brain tissue, blood, and veins stains my hands. The smell is nothing more than revolting. Ironically, I'm salivating.

I haven't eaten in days. My stomach is begging me with its ever obnoxious groans. Did you know it is estimated that a person dies every ten seconds from starvation? My hands reach my mouth at an almost alarming rate. The control I once had is gone. My hands are stuffing my face. My jaw is chewing on its own. My throat swallows chunks of me. I am devouring myself. Progressively, I begin to feel nothing. Ringing fills my ears. The taste of rich iron seems to leave my pallet and my body gives in to what humanity deems as 'death.'

But humanity is wrong.

I did not die. No, what happened to me was far from the end of my life.

My eyes opened to the sun that morning. My limbs cracked during my first early stretches and my heart continued to pump an overwhelming amount of passion through my veins. My hand makes its way up to my mouth to cover an eager escaping yawn. Before that very hand returns to my cock, it wipes a large smear of blood from my bottom lip.


	5. Mind of the Virtuoso: Rocking Chair

**Rocking Chair**  
 **WARNING:** Child Death

* * *

Am I human? I can't help but feel immense satisfaction whenever I am asked such a ludicrous question. Is it because of the uncertainty of my being? Or perhaps it's the hesitant belief that such a demon can walk on the same soils as a mortal man? Either way, I'd like to inform you that I am not the 'demon' so many of you believe me to be. I was born from a motherly womb much like you. I was raised as an only child, partially by my mother, but ultimately by my father. My upbringing wasn't the smoothest, but nowadays I suppose that seems to be rare, doesn't it? I walk the same streets as you, I listen to the same music, and I feast on the same foods. I don't understand what makes us so different. We all have our hidden pleasures. Some of us just don't have control over them.

I am a slave to this passion.

* * *

Recently I have been receiving the utmost gruesome job offers from my employers. I suppose this is what I get for not attending last months check-in. If your wondering, I missed that day because I stayed up very late the night before trying to clean my bedsheets. Blood is quite the stubborn bitch to remove. As of now, it seems I get all the job offers others refuse. Oh well. A job is money, I suppose.

It was August 17th. I remember it clearly. 3:24 AM. My assignment consisted of killing a minor. I was told no more other than the location. Killing was never the hard part for me. Getting the victim vulnerable... now that was rather difficult. Being so early in the morning, everyone would be asleep in their beds. Luckily for me, the target home was rather old and the back door's lock had been rusted. It wasn't hard to break off the chain with my high-quality Ionian black leather gloves.

Upon entering the abode it was quiet and dark. Not usually my preference but I was able to feel my way across the room using the walls. My leather gloved hands hissed against the wall as my fingers searched for a doorknob of any kind. And there it was. The door opened with no sound. To my surprise, this youngling still slept with a nightlight. It was blue and very dim. But it was all I really needed to see the face of my victim. Female. I could tell right away from the scent of her bedroom. I took a seat in a rocking chair placed in the corner of the room. It creaked only a little as I sat there, rocking back and forth, watching the innocent rest.

Eventually, the creaking of the rocking chair had awoken the soon to be sleeping dead. With a slight moan and an exhale, she drowsily moved her porcelain face in my direction. Oddly enough, my presence didn't startle the girl. It was as if she had been expecting me. Her voice was low but audible.

"Who are you?"

I tell her who I am doesn't matter.

"Wait." Shes giggling now. "I know who you are. You're God, aren't you?" I can't help but try to hold back a laugh. I reply with a low chuckle. "Yes, I am."

"Mommy said that if I pray to you, you can help me save my dad. And.. you came." She speaks softly, warmly. "You can help him, right?" I choose not to answer her and decide it's my turn to take control of the conversation. I tell her to speak to me of her father. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me how I can help. Tell me why I should care.

"He's very sick. And he's in the hospital somewhere. Mommy won't tell me where. He hasn't been home in a while. I just miss him a lot." My answers are short but I understand. A mother protecting her child's innocence from the staining black dye that death bleeds. "I see."

"You're breathing very heavy, God. Are you sick too?" A large smile creeps across my face. "I am, my child." She wishes me well. How tragic.

"I know your father, my dear. A very, very strong man. Would you like me to take you to him?" My leathered right-hand reaches out to her from the darkness. The creaking rock of the chair stops. Lingering silence. Visible thought.

"Yes."

Her little feet tapped against the cold hardwood floor. The contract of imminent death had been signed with such a glorious sound. And a heart rested at the end of her signature. Her pale, fragile hand reaches for mine. I hold her vital hand only for a moment before I lead, yanking her into death's eternal slumber.


	6. Mind of the Virtuoso: Dyslexic Therapist

**_Author's Notes_**

I mean absolutely no offence to anyone with Dyslexia.

* * *

 **The Dyslexic Therapist**  
 **WARNING:** Religious Disbelief, Gore, Rape (NSFW)

* * *

It was your average Sunday. The holy day they call it. A day where the rich, the poor, the old, and the young would all gather and pray. "Pray for what?" you might ask. Well, I'm not entirely sure. Some pray for health and happiness, others pray for greed. Some for what they want, others for what they need. Personally, I pray for humanity to realize there really is no god but I suppose in order for my prayers to be answered, I would have to believe. What a joke. Everyone will be attending church this morning except me, of course. I will be seeing my own version of God. My therapist.

She was a skinny little thing. Fragile, blonde, delicate and oddly desirable. She was the perfect woman or would be if she didn't suffer from dyslexia. Nevertheless, she was sure a sight to see. Often, as I laid in that chaise longue tuning out her opinion on my life, I would find myself mentally decimating her; tearing her clothes right off her body, tying her hands to her bed's wrought iron headboard, taking my Zhen Damascus steel knife and repeatedly stabbing her in the belly which would elicit the most horrendous screams from her thin lips each time my blade pierced through her pale skin. And then I'd fuck her; each thrust spilling blood out of the many holes I had created in her tummy. It was like watching a twisted game of whack-a-mole except instead of the happy little mole popping up from its hole, it was a rather large gush of blood. I couldn't help myself but finger one of the deeper wounds. It felt hot and wet much like a vagina except occasionally my fingers would find themselves jabbing into an intestine. It wouldn't be long before I would have to cum but just like clockwork, our session would be over before I could relieve myself.

Today, my therapist seemed rather off. Perhaps she had a lot on her mind. I decided not to ask. After all, the reason I was even visiting her was to help me with my problems. I laid in the chair for some time before she finally spoke. "Help?" she asked me. I could only reply to the best of my ability. It was hard speaking with someone who was dyslexic. "Why, yes. I do believe our little sessions help me. I tell you about my problems and you try to help me fix them." Another long pause. "Please?" she asked again. "Am I pleased with your work? Yes, most certainly. I have never felt better." A smile creeps up from behind my mask. Unfortunately, she can't see it.

"Why?"

"Because if I didn't visit you consistently I would be a total nut-case. You help guide me in the right direction!"

I am patient for her as I understand how hard it can be to get words out when your mouth is completely sealed off with duct tape. Eventually, she mumbles, "Spare me." A low chuckle vibrates in my throat. My legs are comfortably crossed, left over right, as I slide my thumb against the blade's tip, careful not to cut myself. "Spare you? I suppose that depends," I say.

"Do you believe in God?"


	7. Mind of the Virtuoso: Careless

_**Author's Notes**_

A quick blurb about Jhin coming to terms with what it means to be psycho. It's all a game to him.

* * *

 **Careless**

* * *

Oh, the wondrous secrets sex brings. If only they knew. If only they understood how capable and willing my mind is to weave together such a complicated yet sublime tapestry using the golden threads of gore and lust. My dear, what pleases me is nothing physical. Not the makeup, the lingerie, nor even the hourglass body. My pleasure comes from your misunderstanding. How you think I care about how you look, feel, or taste. How you so foolishly mistake me for your typical sane man. You see, I am attracted to your pain, your panic. I crave your screams and I feed off of your tears until I'm no longer starved. Until you become nothing. Nothing but meat and bone. And while I'm shoving you down my gullet I think not of who you once were but rather just how much you satisfied me and how likely I am to do it all again.

The true irony lies in how hard you try to put yourself together, only to have me tear you apart in the end.


	8. Mind of the Virtuoso: The Scarlet Woman

**The Scarlet Woman**  
 **WARNING:** Sex (Male Bottom), Female Domination, Mentions of Violence, Mild Gore, Mentions of Cannibalism

* * *

Not many know this, but I do indeed see a mistress. Consider yourself lucky. My relationship with her is a very mutual one. We plan her visits on Fridays at exactly 10:40 PM. This is because my soap ends late at 10:30 PM and it usually takes me approximately eight minutes to get ready and the remaining two to pour and down a quick shot of Dalmore 62-year-old single malt Scotch whiskey. The alcohol tends to numb my mind, ultimately slowing down my thought process. Let's just say I don't enjoy having my mind wander while I'm taking it up the ass.

For safety purposes, I'm going to be giving my mistress a fake name. Let's call her.. Scarlet. Now, Scarlet and I have been seeing each other for a while; about nine months. Needless to say, we know each other quite well. She understands my wants and needs while I provide her with the necessary cash. It's a win, win scenario. Unfortunately, the only downside is that she gets to know the man behind the mask. Of course, being the cautious virtuoso that I am known to be, I made her sign her life away so that if she ever did as much as to utter a single word, I'd hunt her down and stab so many holes into her belly that she'd become my new burgundy palette. But so far she has kept my secret safe. Smart girl.

* * *

Scarlet showed up at exactly 10:40 PM. Thank the gods she's attentive. Perhaps that's why we get along so well. She was in her usual attire, a long red coat accented with black fur around the hood and cuffs. Her large coat had been hiding her tight black leather corset along with the matching garter belt and stockings. Her shoes, however, were a no-name brand pair of stilettos. How cheap. Nevertheless, I must say her body was very attractive. She was curvy where she needed to be; not too thin but not too big either. In regards to her face, decent but could use some work. Mayhaps more makeup? I don't know nor do I care. By now, the shot I had taken earlier put me in a mood of plain recklessness. The only thing that I knew at this very moment was that I wanted to be completely and entirely under her full control.

I'm now laying on my back in my luxurious silk-sheeted bed, legs spread wide. Scarlet was applying K-Y Jelly to her lengthy strap-on. Watching her seemed to only be a tease as my own cock throbbed against my stomach, aching for any form of human contact. I close my eyes and listen to the erotic sounds of the jelly being molded around the shaft and head of the dildo. Pretty soon I'd be able to feel some sort of release from this torturous game. Pretty soon she'd be inside of me. I opened my eyes to see her staring down at me with a large smirk on her face. Gods, I could just bite her lips and tear them off of her mundane face. Her smirk was so delicious. I notice myself beginning to salivate at the thought. She begins fingering my asshole with her jellied fingers, preparing me for my reward that I've been so patient for. Well, I suppose I did deserve it. After all, I paid for it. I'm wincing through my teeth as she's stretching me with her index and middle finger. It's clear she enjoys my heated sounds from the smile on her face and her guttural happy giggling.

"Do you like that, Khada?" What a dirty slut. "Yes," I reply with a groan. She shoves another finger inside. In almost an instant my cheeks become hot; the extra added width making me blush. Why couldn't she just enter me already? Well, that answer is rather simple. Because this is what I love. The viperous bite of the teasing temptress. Oh, how quickly its venomous lust seeped into my veins. It was incredibly intoxicating. With my throat becoming dry, I swallowed hard only to find the tip of the dildo ready at my anus.

Finally. I let out a deep breath of anxious relief. "Please, Scarlet," I say, "I can't take this any lo-.." With an unexpected amount of brute force, I get my agonizing wish. I let out a yell of intense pain seeing as she fully forced herself inside. Instinctively, my toes curled up trying to suppress some of the pain. Tears began leaving the corners of my eyes in pure ecstasy. It hurts so good. My body aches in a panic at the sudden intrusion. I'm clawing at my silk bed sheets tearing the threading and ruining their smooth, rich complexion. All the while, Scarlet had been thrusting viciously inside of me. It felt like my walls were tearing. I felt sick.. and I loved every second of it.

My mind eventually became too blurry along with my vision. My climax approached swiftly. I came all over myself. My chest and stomach had been painted with my own semen. You can't put a price on natural art. My mistress comforts me and teases me a little while longer before I begin to feel dirty laying in my own sweat and cum. I have never been one for afterplay. I offer her to come wash up with me and she accepts. Before long, I'm drowning her in my bathtub full of boiling hot water. I couldn't afford to pay the whore due to the sudden unexpected cost of silk bedsheets. Yes, they are very expensive. I take a carving knife, one that I keep under my bathroom sink, and begin peeling off Scarlet's tasty lips. Perhaps these would go well with a side of oven roasted potatoes and a fresh garden salad tossed in balsamic vinegar.


End file.
